


The Owing (and the paying back)

by ActuallyMe



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, a smidge of romantic feelings, but that's def not the purpose of this fic, the doctor comes back from the judoon prison, the fam reacts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:01:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25881763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActuallyMe/pseuds/ActuallyMe
Summary: Inspired by the ask prompt: "I won't let you."
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 48





	The Owing (and the paying back)

Yaz tosses and turns in her bed, the duvet twisting around her legs. “I won’t let you,” she murmurs, tears dripping down her face. “I won’t let you die!” She struggles against her sheets for another minute before she wakes with a gasp, alone in her bedroom.

It’s been a year. A whole year without the Doctor, a whole year since her suicide mission, and Yaz still hasn’t been able to grieve. How do you grieve the best person you’ve ever met? How do you grieve someone you loved so deeply, having never told her in so many words? 

Yaz gets up and goes to the kitchen. Sonya and her parents have gone away for the weekend, and she’s opted out of the family vacation. Today marks the one year anniversary since the Doctor died, or at least the one year anniversary since they got back, and she has plans with Graham and Ryan. She almost bowed out. It was almost too much, but then Graham had said something about honouring the life the Doctor led, and she’d felt obligated to go. 

Obligation. What even is that? That thing you do when you owe someone something… the Doctor didn’t owe Yaz her life. If anything, it was the other way around! The Doctor saved her from the monotony of parking disputes and bureaucracy, and what did she give the Doctor in return? Wistful smiles and lingering looks that all amounted to nothing. And she couldn't even convince her not to die. 

She blinks tears into the mug that’s meant to be holding her tea. No, that won’t do. She places that mug on the counter to wash later and grabs another one, TARDIS blue. She’s pouring the water over the teabag when the doorbell rings. Yaz spills boiling water all over the counter, barely avoiding getting burnt. She looks at the clock and panic rises in her throat. Someone calling at half four in the morning has got to be an emergency.

She leaves the hot puddle in the kitchen and rushes to the door. She doesn’t believe her eyes when she looks through the peephole, but she opens the door anyway.

This is impossible.

And yet.

There stands the Doctor, her blonde hair reaching past her shoulder blades and her ratty clothes draped over her like she’s a hanger. She’s always been thin, but now she is skeletal. The skin stretched over her face is streaked with— is that blood?

“Hi Yaz,” she says, and then she collapses into the Khan family flat.

\--

_Yaz: you awake?_

_Ryan: Yeah. Couldn’t sleep. Nightmare._

_Yaz: Ryan, she’s back. the doctor is back. she’s passed out on my couch and mate idk what to do._

_Ryan: I’ll be there in ten._  
\--  
Ryan is there in five minutes, Graham in tow. Turns out they all had nightmares right before the Doctor showed up at Yaz’s door.

“I don’t know if we should crowd her like this,” Ryan whispers, but makes no move to change his position. Both Yaz and Ryan are sat on the floor, staring at the Doctor while Graham makes them tea.

“No, you’re right,” Yaz whispers back. She doesn’t make a move, either.

The Doctor doesn’t look good, but calling the ambulance won’t work. They’d just experiment on her, wouldn’t they?

Yaz wants to be angry. She wants to be so angry, and maybe she is, somewhere buried under the trauma and the elation and the confusion. Right now, though, she is both worried and relieved. There’s a gash on the Doctor’s head, staining some of her blonde hair rusty brown, and several scrapes all over her body.

None of them have any plans today outside of their meeting to grieve together, so Graham and Ryan stay. Graham makes eggs, Ryan sits cross legged on the floor and flicks through channels, and Yaz takes a shower. Presumably, the Doctor will want one when she wakes up, so she tidies up the bathroom after she’s done, even going so far as to make sure there’s no hair in the drain trap. It’s presentable at least.

When she emerges to see her second family at her dining room table, she’s found Ryan has popped to the shops and already returned.

“I didn’t, I mean, it’s all she eats, these custard creams. Haven’t been able to look at them since, well, but now she’s here.”

Yaz swallows the emergent tears that stick in her throat.

“Yeah. Good idea, Ry.”

They greet the sun and enjoy the scrambled eggs Graham has made.

Graham speaks, his eyes tinged red. “It’s odd, innit? That we all had a nightmare about the Doctor and within half an hour, we got your text.”

Yaz nods. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.” What else can she say? Today has already been one of the strangest days in her life, and it’s only eight in the morning. “Where do you think she’s been?”

“Oh cockle. Not anywhere nice, by the looks of it,” Graham says before spearing his eggs with a fork.

Ryan nods, his next question bitter, but fair. “You reckon she’s not contacted us because she’s been in a scrape, or has she been travelling the universe without us and came back when she got in trouble?”

The three of them jump as the Doctor’s uncharacteristically raspy voice enters their quiet conversation.

“I were in prison.”

She pulls the fourth chair out and sits, ripping into the packet of custard creams on the table. “These are brilliant,” she says. “Thanks,” and proceeds like she wants to inhale the entire packet on the spot.

Yaz looks at her. Really looks at her. Her skin sags, sallow, like she’s exhausted, or lost too much weight. The crusty gash on her head probably needs some tending to, and if she has been starved, then eating that much food that quickly is not a good idea.

“Doctor, slow down. There’s more where that came from. It’s not going to disappear,” Yaz says.

The Doctor puts down her fifth custard cream. “I suppose you’re right. Er, Yaz, is there any way I could get clean?” She looks down at herself.

Yaz shows her the bathroom and puts a pair of her favourite pj's, the ones with the constellations, on the towel rack. “If you put these on, I’ll put your clothes to wash.

The Doctor nods. 

Yaz is about to close the door when the Doctor grabs her hand and squeezes it. “Thanks, Yaz.”

Yaz blinks. Around the lump in her throat, she says, “Of course, Doctor.”

\--

“In prison for what?” Ryan sounds hysterical, and Yaz understands the feeling. “And for how long? It looks like she’s been gone way longer than a year.”

“Now, son, we need to be patient with her. She’ll tell us or she won’t, but in the end, she’s still the Doc. She needs our help, it looks like.”

Yaz shakes her head and is about to say something when they hear the water stop. They are silent for the whole five minutes between the water shutting off and the Doctor coming out of the bathroom.

“Hey fam,” the Doctor smiles, but her eyes don’t crinkle up and the smile feels empty. Still, Yaz feels a pang at seeing the Doctor in her pyjamas. She looks so small and cozy, and she’s wearing Yaz’s clothes. “You lot probably have loads of questions. I were in prison for about three years, but I got out. Don’t really want to talk about it, but I didn’t abandon you. Promise.” That smile is so forced.

Yaz can’t help herself from saying what comes next, though she does manage to say it without crying. “We thought you were dead.”

Ryan elbows her.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Lots of things happened. I’m shattered and starving. Can I have more custard creams now?”

The Doctor’s apology feels cavalier, insincere, and Yaz wants to shake her. Instead, she watches as Ryan hands her the packet of biscuits.

It feels oddly normal, all things considered. 

\--

The boys leave in the evening. “Let us know if anything happens,” Ryan says, hugging Yaz.

“Yeah, and if you need anything at all, we’re just a phone call away,” Graham adds, patting her shoulder.

Yaz nods and closes the door behind them.

She joins the Doctor on the settee, and that’s when things get well and truly odd.

“Hi Yaz.” The Doctor’s voice wavers, and, suddenly, she leans on Yaz. Yaz stiffens, unsure, and then melts into the touch.

“You alright, Doctor?”

“Yeah, m’fine.” There’s still a waver in her voice, though.

“You don’t sound fine.”

The quiet extends before them, and Yaz thinks the Doctor has ignored her when, a minute later, she says, “I suppose I’m not really fine.”

Yaz’s eyes sting. How many times can she cry today? She blinks them away and wraps her arms around the Doctor.

“How’s your head?” She asks. From here, she can see the gash has turned into a scab, and it’s still not pretty, but the Doctor’s hair smells of Yaz’s shampoo and she can’t help feeling like the woman in her arms will disappear into smoke.

“Oh, that’ll heal.” Her voice is thick, and Yaz thinks it’s just her face buried in Yaz’s shoulder, but then she realises her shoulder is wet with tears.

“Doctor? Please talk to me.”

“What do you want to hear?” There’s a bark of cynical laughter, and the Doctor detaches herself from Yaz’s side, scrubbing her eyes with the back of her hand and Yaz’s star scattered PJs.

“Whatever you need to say.”

The Doctor looks at her, no _through_ her. Yaz waits.

“I’m not ready to talk about it. I’m not ready to even think about it. But I missed you, Yaz. I missed all of you so much.”

Yaz can’t help the piece of her heart that dies when the Doctor mentions she missed the fam in the same breath she says she missed Yaz. But the Doctor came to her flat. Does that mean anything? It doesn’t matter. The Doctor is back, safe, and her little crush doesn’t matter. The Doctor is alive! How can she be disappointed that she didn’t miss her especially?

The Doctor snatches her hand away from Yaz’s, and Yaz wonders when they started holding hands to begin with.

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor says. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

She moves as if to stand, but Yaz grabs her arm. “Don’t be daft. I want you where I can take care of you.”

“You shouldn’t have to take care of me,” the Doctor grumbles, but she settles back on the settee. “Any more custard creams?” She’s been through three packets today, as well as some leftover pakora and chicken curry. 

“No, but there’s some ice cream in the fridge,” Yaz suggests, even as she knows she shouldn’t encourage the Doctor to eat more sugar.

The Doctor agreess, and Yaz gets two spoons and the carton of Sainsbury’s raspberry sorbet and panna cotta ice cream. There’s barely enough for two people, so it doesn’t matter if they finish the carton.

By the time she returns, the Doctor is snoring on her couch. Yaz regards her. She’s lost some of the sallowness, and the colour is back in her cheeks. She looks better without all the dirt and blood. Yaz leans down and kisses her forehead. “Goodnight, Doctor,” and she departs to her room.


End file.
